


Law of Reflection

by Celtic_Knot



Category: Hakuouki
Genre: Coping, Emotional Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:04:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6565417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celtic_Knot/pseuds/Celtic_Knot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> His chest squeezes around accuracies and reaching for a deep breath doesn’t help. He’d really love to hit Heisuke, but that would mean lifting his arm to where the lamp will pierce through it and project his veins onto the walls. </i>
</p><p>Heisuke pays Souji a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Law of Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Hakuouki, nor did I in any way contribute to its creation. All rights go to their respective owners.
> 
>  **WARNINGS:** Emotional sex, hurt/comfort, dark thoughts, mentions of blood
> 
> Set after Souji is shot with the silver bullets, but before Kondo is killed.

_"The law of reflection states that when a ray of light reflects off a surface, the angle of incidence is equal to the angle of reflection."_

* * *

 

 

He thinks some part of him always knew it wouldn’t work.

The fever has been warm enough for a while now to melt away anything he tries to cover himself with. Everything drips off: medicine, ochimizu, pure will. Attempt after attempt puddles around his feet. It’s probably up to his knees by now. Maybe his waist. It would be hard to tell if it’s reached his chest yet. The burning breaths torch air and the smog sickens his nerves.

Eventually he’ll drown in it or burn, whatever comes first, but he chose it.

He chose it.

Not the disease, but the countermeasures. This one in particular that has signed its name to his isolation. Rasetsu. It’s funny, how far that rotten experiment has spread. How many answers it has tried to be. Souji told it to give him back his purpose. It didn’t listen long. Even the blood of a fake demon can’t destroy the reality he’s living. There are rules, and not getting out alive is number one. A little more time is all he had wanted. For Kondo-san. But that, well that’s not much good if his time is spent like this.

His sweat has him disgustingly stuck to the bed. Each drop clings on to his sheets, pinning him down. It’s hard work to convince his heart that taking off isn’t a great idea. He’d bust out of his own ribs too if he could. But he can’t. Each ragged breath smothers the next one. They all taste like blood. Everything his tongue touches tastes like blood. Not the kind that triggers bloodlust, no the bitter kind that he tries to spit into the bowl next to him, but it doesn’t help and lifting his head to spit gets to be more work than it’s worth.

Those silver bullets left wounds, but they don’t hurt so bad anymore. His fingers poke at the entry point of each one. They’re sore, but there are no scars. Of course there aren’t. It’s tempting to press a little harder, but not too hard. If he gasps he’ll cough. If he coughs he’ll keep coughing until his body doesn’t have the strength to do anything but lie still and listen to the sounds of itself failing. The ochimizu does do something. The rips in the back of his throat do close, no matter how many times he opens them. His wounds do heal. But it’s all a matter of pace, and decline has the advantage of gravity.

The lamp beside him provides a glow that reminds him what his skin looked like when it had a little color. Sometimes he holds his hand in front of it to play with the shadows his fingers paint on the walls, but lately he’s afraid he’ll lift up his hand and the light will shine right through it. It’s probably delirium. Alone with his own mind is a terrible place to be. He doesn’t blame the others for the rarity of their visits. Time is valuable, and he’s not anymore. Not in the way they need him to be. If Kondo-san were to swing him too hard he’d fall apart. Not that Kondo-san would touch him when he’s like this. Not out of a lack of a care, though. Some people will always care, not how you’d like them to, but they do.

Still, he betrayed a trust when he did this to himself. Defiance says it’s his body and his right. A different ache tells him this has always been the course. Hijikata-san becoming more and more vital while Souji can’t reconcile the reality of himself with what he needs to give. It’s typical. He wants to laugh, but that’s stuck too.

Infuriatingly so.

And so he forces it. Makes his throat allow that laughter to pass because _damn it_ it’s a way to breathe and any air moving is good. Laughing in general is good. His body does have memories. There are still associations he hasn’t lost. Sounds paired with vivid moments that he can lose himself in for a few seconds. Colors different from the ones that jump around his eyelids when he can’t breathe. He’d laughed when he stole Hijikata-san’s haiku, he’d laughed when he teased Chizuru, and when he’d enlisted Hajime-kun to help him with that cat.

The string snaps when he gasps.

Gasps turn into coughs. He knew they would. Those few seconds were worth it though. He spits out some blood and saliva. As far as his attacks go this one wasn’t as terrible as it could have been. He chalks it up to a victory. Not the kind that wins a war, but the one that says _hey at least you didn’t just roll over and die._ New situations call for new definitions. It’s realism with a brutality he expected from life but never saw this application of it coming.

Footsteps outside his door draw him out of himself and back into the room around him. He’s instantly reminded of how the floor is too hard even through the bedding beneath him, and the blankets boil him while he freezes. There’s a draft, but nowhere near the breeze he’d like. He reaches for his sword him, then stops.

He recognizes those sounds. Maybe. If he’s lucky, that part of his brain is still truthful, “Don’t just stand out there.”

Consider it the first time his body and mind have gotten something right in a while.

Heisuke slips through his door, a package in his hands, “Sorry, I didn’t know if you were sleeping.”

Souji tries to ignore the way Heisuke’s nose wrinkles briefly. It might be the smell of medicine or of spoiled blood. Both scents are bitter.

“I’m nocturnal now too, remember?” Not that he doesn’t spend time sleeping even in the dark. His energy isn’t what it was a year ago, not even what it was a few hours ago. Closing his fingers around seconds gets more difficult each day. By the time his fingers remember how to curl he has already let more slip away.

“Yeah, you are.” Heisuke half smiles. It’s not sympathetic, but it’s gentle. Save for the way _I know, I know, I know_ glints from between each one of his teeth. There are few people who speak and live in terms suns flipped upside down. Heisuke is one of them.

He’s also different from the last time Souji saw him. When was that? It doesn’t matter. But the new image is striking. His ponytail is gone most noticeably, and his clothes are different. Western in style, and black and white save for a shock of purple. They look strange and stiff. Heisuke might be suffocating too. It means change. Change that Souji has missed. He has heard about the plans to implement some new tactics into the losing fight. Heisuke is wearing the Shinsengumi’s future and it doesn’t look much like a way to greet tomorrow.

“You look funny,” Strange doesn’t register as sweet on his tastebuds, but Heisuke doesn’t look bad. Especially not when his eyes sharpen from insult only to smooth down his face until he’s laughing.

“Well I brought yours,” He kneels beside Souji, shoving the package towards him. His smile falls piece by piece as unpleasant thoughts chip into it, “... for when you’re ready.”

_If. If you’re ever ready._

Heisuke’s too kind to speak the doubt Souji knows is there.

“What? Hijikata-san didn’t want to deliver it to me in person?” Opening up the delivery isn’t much of a surprise. There are all the elements of what appear to be their new western uniforms. The colors are different than Heisuke’s but the fabric seems to be the same. The same cloth, the same stitches. Unraveling it all goes back to the same place, probably.

The rich shade of gold bothers him. It will point to the skin of his neck and the hollow between his collarbones. It will highlight all the places shades of sickness have settled. The size is probably wrong too. Hijikata-san has no way of knowing how much weight he has lost by now. When he does have visitors the blankets do a decent job of obscuring outlines, and no one cares to move them to really look. That’s fine. They don’t need to see, not when they wouldn’t understand what they’d be looking at. It’s nobody’s fault. He’s still allowed to be angry.

“I offered to bring it,” Heisuke picks at the hem of his vest, “I told him I was going to visit you and figured I’d save him the trip.”

Heisuke’s visit itself is enough of a distraction to keep him from latching on to the many words he wants to give their vice commander. Actually, it’s probably better for Hijikata-san’s sanity and Souji’s health that he doesn’t see him right now. Not that he cares about what Hijikata-san would have to say to him. He can’t pretend anything they have to say to each other would help. It’s not hatred. Hatred is too specific for the many things Hijikata-san is. Admittedly, not even all of them are negative, but… There are things that bastard owes him, and things he’ll ask of Souji that he just can’t give. Not now. If any corner of him is still angry that Hijikata-san would pass this buck off to Heisuke, he’ll swallow that too. It’s not Heisuke’s fault, but that doesn’t quite stop him. Convenience is a luxury he hasn’t had much of.

“I’m assuming you have a reason for coming other than running Hijikata-san’s errands.” Teasing it out of Heisuke could be fun. But Heisuke has shadows under his eyes, and the rise and fall of his chest pulls on things Souji almost recognizes but can’t quite see through. If Souji has become more translucent, then Heisuke is more opaque than he remembers.

“Yeah.” Heisuke pauses, stumbling over a few potential words before choosing. He’s been the butt of Souji’s jokes more than once for his lack of eloquence. But he’s always been earnest to a fault, “I wanted to see you.”

Souji snorts, “Something you want to tell me, Heisuke?”

“Don’t be an ass!” It’s loud, Heisuke’s voice and the groan he makes while leaning his head back, “I’d been wondering how to approach you. Then I realized I was doing the thing I hate…”

He trails off the way he always has when his tongue gets pinned by his thoughts, fingers tapping against his thigh. Souji recognizes how he starts to drift through his own mind. Reeling him back in would be the nice thing to do. Heisuke doesn’t enjoy being lost, but Souji wants to watch for a minute. The grays of a frown fall around Heisuke’s lips, and his eyes watch the window but don’t seem to see out it.

The night binds him in ways Souji hasn’t seen before. Like he’s holding out his hands waiting for the shadowed half of the clock to secure his wrists and ankles. It’s not surrender. Not really. The angles of his shoulders are too strong, and the lines cradling his jaw don’t catch _I quit_ but they do draw on shades of anxiety and uncertainty. Note after note of doubt falls down Heisuke’s arms.

It would be easy to topple him when he’s like this. Souji’s willing to bet there’s a certain amount of lost truth within himself. Better to be trapped in the dark than to betray the sun. Heisuke’s an idiot. Not a bad one.

“The thing you hate?” The conversation has strayed long enough. There are only so many minutes, and his fever shoves itself full of them. The ache reminds him he’s alive, and trying to sit up straighter makes the room spin. Or he’s the one spinning. If it’s his brain doing the swirling is that still the room or is it him?

Heisuke exhales, “Acting like you’re suddenly different.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re still you. That didn’t change.” He pauses, tugging the sheets to cover more of Souji’s lap. Unconscious kindness is so much like Heisuke. Probably part of why him and Chizuru get along so well. Chizuru is an ache he can’t stop on right now, Heisuke words spare him from that, “I’m still me. They don’t always remember that.”

“You can’t deny we’re different.” Souji knows what Heisuke means. The instinct of the others to treat them as something new wearing old skin. It’s not a conscious decision, but transformation comes in all sorts of shapes and ochimizu obscures parts of them that their friends have always seen. They get trapped between wanting to rip back layers to look for what’s familiar and wanting to just pretend nothing has changed. The changes they look for are the wrongs ones. The infinitely unimportant ones if Heisuke’s exhaustion is able to speak. It’s difficult to preserve what everyone needs in yourself when you can’t meet the conditions of that trust and necessity anymore.

“Yeah, but-”

“The two of us aren’t human, Heisuke.” Smiling feels like he’s swallowing his teeth. What’s a few more scratches? It’s true. He’s telling the truth. If it stings Heisuke then that’s his hang up. Maybe it hurts Heisuke more because he had farther to fall.

“But we’re still us.” Heisuke curls his fingers into the edge of Souji’s blankets.

“Who are trying to convince?” Poking at Heisuke’s fingers from beneath the sheet is amusing. He half pulls his hand back, but doesn’t commit. Souji can still reach him, for now. How much force would it take to make him let go? It’s that gravity again, shoving down, forward, down, “I never asked you to tell me who I am. Speak for yourself. I’m not confused.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do. Damn it, Souji.” His fist bangs the floor beside him.  
“We’re going to spend the rest of our lives wanting blood and waiting to turn to ash,” He’s on a roll now. The kind that starts off as joke, but then it slips. He slips. Always. Heisuke doesn’t deserve it, but it’s too late to resist the inertia of his words, “Lucky for you we won’t live long.”

“Stop it!” It’s there. Maybe. For a second he thinks he sees red flare up in Heisuke’s eyes as he jerks toward Souji, but then it’s gone. Any memory of blood is replaced by the color the sky would be if it decided to try on the ocean’s reflection. That thought is a juxtaposition of sentimentality and pain. He’s fine.

Heisuke is more forgiving than most. His eyes close, and Souji counts to ten with him before his glare is gone and a smile takes it’s place.

“What?” _I’m sorry_. It shouldn’t be hard. It’s too hard. He won’t apologize. That’s not what’s difficult. It’s trying to stop chasing Heisuke around in a circle because Souji can’t catch himself. Fair isn’t fair and they both know it. Heisuke may have found etchings even Souji can’t see yet. Change is good at yanking your eyes open until they dry out.

“You’re honest.” Heisuke chuckles under his breath, short but familiar. There are shades of Shieikan and early mornings that his body can remember just as much as his mind. Probably even better.

The comment itself is odd. His fingers wrap his blankets around his hands but they’re still too chilled to picked the signs out of his skin that Heisuke seems to be reading. _Honesty_ is not exactly an attribute Souji prizes himself on. He doesn’t usually lie outright, but saying what he means. No. It’s scraps of what Kondo-san wants to hear, and bits of flesh and blood caught on the edge of his sword. It’s ink from maps of his home town, and shouts caught up against walls. All cobbled together into a body double. What’s authentically his own? Not what he wears in plain sight. But Heisuke looks at him like he can hear the words of an unread story they both know.

“Honest?” Ask. Just ask. His throat tickles and he can’t decide whether he’s going to hack or throw up. Curiosity won’t settle his stomach. He folds potential answers and shoves them into his gut. Paper and perception make wings rather than peace. Annoying. All of it. He clears his throat and spits out red. It’s always red. “That’s an interesting choice.”

Heisuke’s gaze follows the bloody spit into the dish, but he doesn’t comment. It’s not a surprise, not a secret, not one of those lies Heisuke’s implying Souji doesn’t tell. Definitions are slippery, and maybe it would be best to grab Heisuke and try to find bones with his fingers, at least those are solid. But that would hurt, and while his chest hurts and his mind bends around fever, he has enough sense to not want to wreck Heisuke. Pain is one thing, digging so deeply the foundation falls in is another.

“I mean you say shit all the time but,” He puts a hand on Souji’s knee. His fingers are almost painful in the first second, but the pressure is relief by the second. “You’re just you and I think that’s a kind of sincerity too.”

“You say that like you know something.” Does he sound as tired as he is? Screw it. Heisuke’s hardly a threat. They’re both rasetsu, sure. Feasibly they could tear each other to bits, drain blood until they ignite like the monsters they are. But that won’t happen, will it?

“I’d like to think I still know you.” There’s a vulnerability that Souji could pounce on in the way Heisuke uses his tongue to roll each word around a question of truth. He’s trying to recall the taste of what they all shared. It’s not even Souji himself that Heisuke is questioning. Maybe it would be kinder to cover Heisuke’s mouth or his eyes, keep him blind and breathless until he remembers everything in that flash before lost consciousness.

That’s not what he does.

“So then tell me about me.” It’s selfish in the sense that he wants satisfaction for his own curiosity. Heisuke is a shit liar. Matsumoto sensei mentioned recovery early on. Kondo-san told him rest would heal his body. Sannan-san promised ochimizu would fix his weakness. They all lied to him. He can’t ask them. He knows what he sees in the mirror, but what does Heisuke see?

Souji lays back down on his side. Gravity is a bitch, and his head starts to ache from being too upright under that weight. The tickling in his throat reminds him how badly his body wants to cough, traitor that it is. It wants to paint him pictures in the blood it takes without permission. He could clear his throat, try to jam it back down, but Heisuke would hear and then he wouldn’t speak. He’d grab the wet rag by the bed and ease Souji back into bed. That’s not what he wants, so he grinds his teeth together instead.

“What?” Heisuke’s hand on Souji’s knee jumps and then tightens. Heisuke himself mimics the movement of his hand. His shoulders jerk then round towards Souji. It wouldn’t be bad if he came closer. His fingers are cool but the rest of him is probably warm. The fever and the chills would both have fun taking advantage of him.

“You said you know me.” Souji grins and if there’s blood in his teeth then Heisuke doesn’t notice. It’s a challenge. “So go ahead and tell me.”

Heisuke watches him for a minute, before sliding his swords free and placing them off to the side. It’s not strange, maybe surprising, when Heisuke gets down so that he’s on his stomach with his chin resting on the backs of his hands. They’re eye to eye now. Heisuke won’t talk down to him it seems. First right answer.

“You’re mad.” He gives Souji space to argue, but Souji has had enough of spaces and silence. They’re offered up to the ill again and again dressed up as peace or solidarity when they practically scream _not wanted_. Heisuke pulls the blanket off of Souji’s hands, and Souji’s half surprised when some of his skin doesn’t go with it.

It takes Heisuke a minute to continue. He bites on a few words and Souji watches his lips work on the right ones. He looks down at his swords and then at Souji’s hands, “You feel trapped. Because everything is for Kondo-san, right? Now you’re like this, but you’re still you and the two don’t know how to work together yet.”

The edges of his vision curl in lacy black, the kind that rips up into tiny explosions when he can’t breathe. His chest squeezes around accuracies and reaching for a deep breath doesn’t help. He’d really love to hit Heisuke, but that would mean lifting his arm to where the lamp will pierce through it and project his veins onto the walls. Heisuke’s cheek would probably turn red, but it would heal up before Souji could debate scraping the color off for himself. It’s all a futile effort in one way or another. There are difficult opponents, and then there are executioners, pulling on puppet strings. Bringing death but offering nothing to fight. It’s hard to fight when you have no clear target, no direction in or out. Trapped is a good word. Heisuke knows, and he shouldn’t know, because he’s never been the kind of person to linger where Souji has. Empathy can do a lot, but Heisuke has to be pulling at least some of this from experience.

It almost hurts. Or maybe it does. Who the hell knows?

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Souji grabs Heisuke’s wrist and digs his nails in. Heisuke’s fingers twitch, but he stays still. “But that’s typical, isn’t it?”

It only takes half a second for Heisuke to start laughing. The sound is strong enough that it might be able to catch the moonbeams and tilt then into Souji’s eyes. That’s why he when he looks right at Heisuke he blinks. Heisuke has laughed so many times. Souji was there for his first day joining their group and every day after. He fit himself in quite well, and they’ve had their fun. So this isn’t new, but the timing is bit odd. Souji had been waiting for indigence, for protest. Instead his chest heaves while Heisuke’s presses out amusement to cover relief. Relief that’s painted in ugly blues and purples that aren’t on Heisuke’s skin but are written up one side of him and down the other all the same.

Heisuke smiles at Souji, his teeth don’t have blood between them. It’s in his eyes instead.

_Since when?_

“What the hell’s gotten into to you?” Souji shoves at his shoulder. The effort is worth a certain amount of pride. Certain things still work if he tries hard enough. “You’re so noisy.”

His headache isn’t Heisuke’s fault, but focusing on the pulsing distracts him from wanting to grind his palm into Heisuke to see how well the pigments he’d capture would match his own.

“Sorry.” Heisuke reaches a hand up like he’s going to adjust his ponytail, but there’s nothing there and he traces air instead, “I was just relieved to hear you say that.”

“Obviously.” He flicks the back of Heisuke’s hand with his nail. Disappointingly, it doesn’t leave a mark. “It doesn’t take much.”

“You’d be surprised.” Oh? If bitterness creeps in Heisuke doesn’t give Souji a chance to double check. He glances away and when his eyes are back it’s buried. Clever, but the cover up churns up other things. It makes it easier to pick disappointment out of the shadows casted by hunched shoulder, and it’s not difficult to find suppression guiding anger down Heisuke’s throat.

The lamp reaches out rays that crawl all over Heisuke, hard where they should be soft. The glow sputters on impact with skin, the flame and Heisuke equally unsteady. The light chases the dark around, but they both run from something uniquely Heisuke’s and Souji is intrigued. It’s motion like he’s only ever seen in battles lit by arson or stars, they all start to look similar. Heisuke shifts from his stomach to his side, laying his head on an outstretched arm. If he’s trying to mirror Souji’s position he does a decent job. He’s heard something about imitating those you’re close to subconsciously. Glass mirrors shatter easily, and he’d prefer one of steel. Seeing himself through another person isn’t a promise, but seeing himself in a blade is.

Heisuke isn’t a sword or a hand mirror.

He’s a person, a rasetsu, a Heisuke. Specifics don’t matter. Smashing him might yield interesting results, a bunch of tiny reflections in each shard. Or Heisuke might wreck him instead, he has the advantage of health. The urge of violence comes from memories Souji can trace in the lines of Heisuke’s right palm. There’s the first days in Kyoto, Ikedaya, and years Heisuke already wore when Souji met him. He’d like to fight with him right now. Pull one of their one of their old matches out of their memories and reteach his body the sharpness of a killer edge. Of a goal. But desires can’t resist reality. He’s still isolated in his lack of agency. It’s irritating, pounding on the glass of the vial that changed them both but being unable to break it. Gasping on air but being unable to use it. Heisuke’s being here offers a way to remember that there are other ways to forget what he has lost. Taking advantage might be one way to put it, or not. Heisuke is here for a reason and Souji wouldn’t deny him that purpose.

“It’s rude you know.” He folds the blanket down a little to give him a better view of Heisuke’s face, “You still haven’t told me.”

“Haven’t told you what?” Heisuke’s an idiot, but he’s not a fool. He taps his fingers on the back of Souji’s hand. He’s seen him play this game with Hajime-kun and Chizuru. The rhythm taunts Souji as something he should recognize. But he doesn’t.

“Why you’re really here. I don’t buy tha-” His throat doesn’t give him much warning this time. The sting is barely any different from the usual grit. It feels like a cough but it’s only a gasp, something in his lungs catching. Maybe the rotten pieces are falling against each other, determined to suffocate him with blood or tissue. Covering his mouth with his hand doesn’t help catch any more air, but if he’s going to start coughing he’d prefer not coat Heisuke.

Heisuke reaches over him to pat his back. It doesn’t do much, but the gesture counts for something. Shifting back against that hand is the only cue Heisuke needs to know to stay still, to let Souji brace against something other than the floor while he rides this out. Suffocating with company would be slightly less horrific than having to wait to be found. But he’s not dead yet. Heisuke’s hand circles his back a few more times before pulling back. It’s a nice change from Yamazaki who never shuts up, or Matsumoto sensei who just shakes his head and leaves a bottle of medicine beside him.

Maybe it’s their shared timeline that keeps Heisuke far from pity or needless noise. They don’t have years. He won’t survive to see if Kondo-san can make it. Heisuke died once and the war’s not done with him yet. He’ll get used up. Hijikata-san needs all the help he can get, and Heisuke will do what he asks because the best he can hope for is to say he died without betraying himself or their bonds.

Hajime-kun used to read these books sometimes, and Souji remembers taking them and flipping to the end but reading nothing else. It’s like that now. Knowing where they’ll be but having only vague ideas how they’ll get there.

“I needed a break to think, or not think.” Heisuke shrugs the best one can in lying position. His answer is delayed, but he hands it over to whatever manipulation Souji wants to expose it to. “And it’s wrong to leave you alone.”

“That’s terribly vague, Heisuke-kun.” It’s enough, Souji can make a few educated guesses, but he wants to hear it. There are entire days he can’t remember because of the fever, or simply that he slept through them. If he assumes too much, he could blame it on that delirious state of sickness. If Heisuke speaks it he’ll have tangible words, something to confirm _now._ “Don’t you trust me enough?”

It’s a joke. A bad one, as per usual. Trust isn’t something they play around. At least not something Heisuke toys with.

“Shut up, Souji.” If there’s a kind way to tell someone to shut their mouth, Heisuke’s got it. His voice lifts on exasperation, but if comes down with a fondness that’s wasted on Souji. “It’s different, you know. Sano-san and Shinpattsuan try to act like it’s not but-”

“It is.” Souji finishes where Heisuke grinds to a stop.

“It’s like I actually died for them.” That’s the heart of it, isn’t it? Heisuke doesn’t cry, but the the way he resigns him to his words is worse. The way his fingers curl into the blanket and hold until they’re as white as Souji’s skin, is worse. “They’re surprised when I act like me, and I just needed to get away.”

“So you’re using me as an escape route?” If nothing else that lends Souji a purpose. He can’t be mad at that. If he can’t be a blade, a path is alright. If he intentionally trips Heisuke up to keep him on that path a little longer then that serves both of their purposes, doesn’t it?

“No, well kind of, yes.” He toys with his bangs the way he always did even before his hair was reduced to this length. “But I meant it when I said I didn’t think you should be alone. And I think I was right to come.”

Souji glances at the ceiling. No ways to avoid the upcoming conversation appear. Just like he has never been able make stars nor sun appear no matter how hard he tries to stare through the boards. There’s no where to get away to. It might sting, but he could probably use the bite. There are worse places, worse people.

If Heisuke is anything, he’s trustworthy. He believes whole-heartedly what he says, and that’s touching in a way. Someone bothered to come and see him, to really come and look. He doesn’t want to take that for granted, but at the same time there are boxes neither of them should open. They probably will anyway. That’s what they’re doing. Rattling each other around to try and guess what’s inside. It’s only a matter of time before they open each other up to see if the contents are as familiar as the wrapping. That might feel nice actually. It was only about three nights ago that Souji wondered if carving his skin off would give the fever a way out. Letting Heisuke try his hand at unpacking him is at least less masochistic. More sadistic maybe. The hell if he knows what Heisuke will find, if he’ll stick his hand into something he can’t give back. He might end up with tuberculosis or a quick spreading rust. Or he could scoop up some of what Souji has lost. Life, tenacity, the ability to strike fear.

Heisuke could take those things as Souji sheds them unwillingly, but Heisuke is losing too. They don’t have time for a transfusion.

It has to be a collision.

“I doubt they mean it,” His foot nudges Heisuke’s shin through the blanket. It might be the first considerate thing he’s said all night. Sanosuke and Shinpachi wouldn’t intentionally do this to Heisuke, neither would any of the others but, “That makes it worse, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Heisuke moves the arm that was above his head so that it rests between them. His nails catch the tatami mat on the way there. “The others have a hard time separating me from the ochimizu, but I can’t really blame them can I.” _It’s hard for me too._

The laugh that follows is telling. It tells him the number of times Heisuke has quested what it means for people like them to be alive, and that number is awfully high for someone normally so optimistic. Poison is effective. The more frantically you try to resist, the quicker your blood carries it. Souji wonders if he’s the only one who has noticed the way Heisuke yanks against snares that are cutting him up.

“Even if they’re bad at it, they’re trying.” The only reason the damn ochimizu was even offered to Heisuke in the first place is because no one was ready to stop trying. To give up on letting Heisuke choose to try. He’s daylight or starlight. The kind of brightness makes other people feel good. That’s valuable, if not a bit selfish all things considered, “They haven’t given up on you.”

The edge slips into his voice unconsciously. Blades aren’t ideal for comfort. Even as decrepit as he is, as dull and unbalanced, he’s still a weapon. It’s hardly Heisuke’s first time being cut, though. They chose this. Different manifestations of it, but the differences lie in just how deeply they’ve internalized it. Heisuke wields a sword, Souji is one. Heisuke could put down his sword and survive as a whole person. Souji doesn’t have that option.

Heisuke’s eyes widen. Whatever he sees on Souji is alarming, but plunges in anyway. Always impulsive, his finger tips would probably bruise Souji’s arm if the ochimizu didn’t insist on erasing imperfections.

“They haven’t given up on you either.” Souji would argue, remind Heisuke that one person doesn’t constitute _them_ , but the way Heisuke pins his arm screams to keep quiet. He’s not obedient but the less he opens his mouth, the less chance of air tickling his throat the wrong way. “Kondo-san and Hijikata-san- They still talk about you.”

“Do you see either of them here?” His laugh isn’t quite as much laughter as it is wrestling with air. Forcing disappointments into sounds of humor. Sounds Heisuke should recognize, but isn’t fooled by. That’s alright. Souji’s not worried about being discreet.

“No, but,” Heisuke closes his mouth, and Souji can see him swallow every night that nobody stopped by to see him either. People don’t like to look at pitiable creatures. Human nature says to avoid the uncomfortable and the unfortunate. It’s not really anyone’s fault.

So neither of them get to interact with the others much any more.

The frequency is even less for Souji who’s a greater physical distance away, and irreparable on top of it all. There are no offers of redemption, no chances to return. Hijikata-san sent that uniform, but how much use does he expect it to get?

“All I’ve wanted is to help push Kondo-san to the top.” Pauses are necessary. More to catch his breath than his thoughts. Whatever’s on his mind can pour out, it’s less dangerous than the blood in his lungs. “But he can’t accept this, me like this. He has always cared more than understands.”

He’s someone special to Kondo-san. That has never been the issue, there’s never been a doubt of that. It’s that caring is not the same thing as needing, and needing is not the same thing as understanding.

“I’m sorry.” Apologies are patronizing. Sympathies used to pawn off uncomfortable feelings that no one wants to hold for someone else. But when Heisuke says _sorry,_ it’s not _I’m sorry I have to listen to you_ or even _I’m sorry you’re pathetic now._ No, Heisuke brushes the backs of their hands against each other and offers sincere regret for everything that hurts. For everything Souji has had torn out of his broken fingers. For everything the two of them will never get the chance to see through.

“I could never explain that I needed to become this to die on my terms.” Even that option is fleeting. The longer disease and ochimizu battle the more apparent it becomes that Souji will be the loser. “It’s never been about surviving, but I thought maybe I could live long enough to see this through for him. I don’t have that kind of time.”

“So now what?” What’s next is an awfully optimistic question for someone who’s dropping grains of his life with every step he takes. The curiosity is enough like the Heisuke he met years ago that it’s a worthy offering for an answer. As much of an answer as he can piece together anyway. He has to snap words out of his ribs. Has to try to find maps in his head that he’s spilled water and blood on a few too many times.

“I’ll rest a little longer, and then catch up.” The extra days of rest won’t do much, but he does have days that are slightly less hellish than others. One of those days will be the best he can hope for, “I’m limited in what I’ve got left, and I won’t waste that here.”

Heisuke wrings the edge of the blanket, the tension in his fingers working internal arguments into the fabric. The silence isn’t quiet. Souji knows Heisuke is listening carefully for all the implications of his words that are still suspended. Each syllable hangs around them, tied up stretched out starlight until Heisuke cuts them down. The violence he frees them with is not present in the way he turns them over again and again. Thoughtfulness isn’t something Heisuke has ever been without, but it’s more pensive now. Reserving words and judgment until the completion of a thought. He has more time to think now than when he decided to take the ochimizu himself, but it’s still not much. Probably none of the Shinsengumi have much time left, not as they are at least.

Him and Heisuke even less so.

“If that’s what you want,” Heisuke’s not going to try to stop him. He doesn’t sound quite resigned, and not precisely sad either. Wistful maybe. It’s difficult to hear to the things they avoid mentioning but Heisuke scratches messages into the air between them, “I’ll support you.”

“What about you?” Souji’s not the only one who has decisions to make, seconds to allocate. Heisuke’s dying too. Battle after battle sets another corner of his life on fire, and they both smell the smoke. Each new flames licks towards the center. The scorch marks don’t interest him. It’s what Heisuke wants from the life he has left that Souji’s curious about.

Sound seems to swallow up echoes of their voices when Heisuke scrambles into a half upright-position. His elbows hit the floor pretty hard, but no bruises will have time to take form. Their blood won’t allow it. No marks to remind themselves or others that they’re capable of being hurt. It’s a warrior’s dream in theory. In reality, it takes something innately human in retaliation. Something that seems easy enough to part with on surface until pieces of your mind start to fall away because of its lose.

Souji never thought he’d miss it until it was gone. Whatever _it_ is, but here he is. Everything he touches is too hot or too cold, and he can’t hang on to any of it.

“I want to see this through to the end.” There’s more. Souji waits, dragging his fingertip in circles on the floor. The hard surface helps a little. The ground is the ground. But the end is different depending who you ask. “I’ve regretted taking the ochimizu so many times, but I haven’t regretted living and I just want to be able to say I lived my beliefs.”

_I don’t want it to have been for nothing._

The only thing worse for Heisuke than sacrificing his humanity would be to have the pain of that sacrifice be invalid. To have it signed it away and lost everything with nothing in return. Souji knows Heisuke wants to live. It’s all over him. The way he moves, the things his eyes follow, and the people his hands reach for. All of it says _alive, I’m alive_ in a reverent sort of way. Heisuke loves a moment because it is a moment his heart is still beating. Better yet if he has others around to share it with. Heisuke’s different. Different from him or Hajime-kun whose lives are equated with purpose and all else is secondary. Until it’s not secondary because purpose isn’t an option anymore. Not in its original form.

“So you’ll be going with the others?” It’s difficult to ascertain whether Souji’s looking for a way to beat the foreshadowing of goodbye, or if he’s trying to calculate how much support Kondo-san will have. Probably the more the first. It serves both purposes in a way. If he plans on future meetings, one at a time, so long as he makes it to them that’s more time. More for Kondo-san. Even if Kondo-san won’t look at him the same, he’ll be there for him as long as he can.

“Yeah. That’s the best way for me.” Heisuke smiles. More sharp than playful. “And now that the enemy is using guns and cannons they’ll be relying on the rasetsu corps more.”

“You and Sannen-san are going to get stuck being used for target practice. At least you’re smaller than him.” They can play with needles or knives. Souji’s fine with that.

“Souji!” Heisuke cringes at the insinuation, but he moves closer to Souji regardless.

“Just don’t get yourself killed for nothing.” That would be a shame. It would hurt too. They’ve all had Heisuke around as a comrade, a friend. His first loss was grieved. His next loss will be grieved whether Souji’s around to see it or not, “Let one of the mad ones get shot first, if they don’t heal, watch yourself.”

“Silver bullets?” Heisuke glances at where the remnants of the only wounds that haven’t been instantly erased hide behind his yukata. Souji doesn’t remember telling Heisuke where the bullets hit. Maybe Yamazaki told him, maybe it’s that his truculence bleeds into everything he touches, fabric included. If he were to get up right now what would Heisuke be able to see in his bed?

Souji nods, starting to grin. The stretch of his lips stings in a way reminiscent of those damn bullets burying themselves in him, “It would be a waste if you got shot before you could do anything.”

“Thanks but,” Heisuke shrugs. The fabric of his new uniform doesn’t move as freely. It folds into sharp creases with his motions. “I don’t think of I have much of a choice in when or how I’ll go. It’s not that I don’t want- It’s just the way it is for rasetsu.”

It’s wrong. Heisuke looking down, selling out his future to uncertainty. And it fucking pisses Souji off. Heisuke is alive. Heisuke is more alive than Souji is at this point. He has the physical means to do what Souji is desperate for. It’s less that he thinks Heisuke is ungrateful for life, and more that he’s bitter over his new body’s selfishness. It wants blood, and it hates the sun. It lends him inhuman strength, but when he dies it will scatter him far away from their friends. Grit that doesn’t stand a chance against the wind. The anger is understandable, but if Heisuke thinks surrender is an option Souji will kill him. He can be angry, Souji is. He can mourn the loss of the place he used to have, Souji understands. But Heisuke can’t get lost, he won’t allow it.

Strength is harder to find than it used to be. It’s not waiting right under his skin anymore, he has to dig for it. Finding enough isn’t as hard as it has been, launching himself at Heisuke is a good motivator. Launch is a bit of an overestimation. Souji still only gets about half his body off the bed, and the muscles in his back are less than happy with him. It’s dizzying too. Too much motion, too quickly. It doesn’t stop him from grabbing Heisuke’s shoulders and yanking him down.

Surprise helps him to maneuver Heisuke beneath him. Heisuke’s instincts kick in at the first sign of attack, and he grunts while shoving at Souji. His hands beat frustrations into Souji’s skin. The warmth of his palms is cooler than Souji’s fever, he might melt Heisuke too. The knee hitting his side almost knocks him over, but being dead weight is something Souji has gained practice with recently. He’s not so easily moved.

Heisuke’s fist stops just short of Souji’s face. Souji wishes he connected, but the struggling halts there. Heisuke’s panting is soothing. It reminds Souji of the battlefield. He can nearly drink the adrenaline from Heisuke’s breath. His hands are on either side of Heisuke’s head propping him up while Heisuke holds onto his shoulders. The grip isn’t meant to harm or push away anymore. It’s still firm, Heisuke’s thumbs knead into Souji’s muscles. The circles ring comfort, but the amount of force Heisuke applies digs _fight_ into him.

“Thanks,” _What the hell_ would have been what Souji expected, Heisuke hands him a surprise instead. Some of the doubt seems to have been knocked out of him. There’s half of a real smile starting to chip through the fake. Souji thinks he can smash through.

That’s the kind thing to do, right? Break Heisuke out and hope he’s willing to return the favor. To give Souji an hour or two where disease and failed expectations don’t own him.

“Don’t mention it.” His voice rattles, actually his chest rattles his voice. Exertion builds up the wheezing under each word, but Heisuke doesn’t mention it so Souji won’t worry about it. He already knows the worst case scenario. If he blankets Heisuke in ash, while that may not be his goal, there are worse places to use himself up.

They don’t move immediately, but neither of them are still. Whether it’s his pulse or Heisuke’s hammering in his ear, he can’t be sure. The origin matters less than the rhythm it pounds into his skin. Nothing like death, nothing like sickness. He’s not cured, he’s not without pain, but Heisuke draws his focus in and in. His fingers run from Souji’s shoulders, down to his waist.

Tracing Heisuke’s face is tricky. It makes him balance on one hand, but he manages. His fingers dig into a cheekbone until his nails mark it. The marks disappear, and he moves on to Heisuke’s jaw. The muscle there feels strong. His fingers curl into soft spot under Heisuke’s jaw beside the bone until he can see Heisuke force himself to swallow. He borrows from all the places Heisuke’s still healthy where he’s grown thin.

Heisuke learns something about Souji’s needs, or maybe he just takes what he himself needs. The differences don’t matter. What does matter is the way Heisuke’s arm wraps around Souji’s middle and pulls him down, fingers stroking over his ribs through his yukata. It’s his earlier manhandling returned to him with a level of care tagged on. Sure he’s yanked down, and sure his chest hits Heisuke’s hard enough that his breath jumps out. It’s nice though. Muscles and bones colliding in ways not so different from combat, except they’re not trying to kill each other. They both get to walk away from whatever this is. Ideally anyway.

It’s up close like this that smaller details come into focus. Maybe Heisuke’s a little more of a mirror than Souji expected. His face isn’t thin like Souji’s, but his skin is pale. That could be just the lack of sun, but there’s pale and then there’s without color. This is what sleepless nights (days) do. This is what endless thoughts do, stealing colors away from skin to paint themselves into something vivid. There’s a light shade of pink on Heisuke’s cheeks now, though. Souji drags his thumbs over those cheekbones. His callouses snag on a little extra friction.

Heisuke doesn’t complain. His hands are busy drawing what might be words onto Souji’s back. Words is a bit too specific. The arch Heisuke’s nails run from one shoulder blade to the other can’t be found in any book, but Souji think he understands. The circle is incomplete, but it finds a horizon line where Heisuke’s other hand runs side to side, transecting his spine. It would be fun if Heisuke had paint on his fingertips so Souji could keep the marks his skin won’t let him bear.

One hand reaches up to the back of Souji’s neck and tugs.

Heisuke kisses him.

At first just a breath, and then chasing a breath. This is where he’d been leading, but Heisuke being the one to jump in first is exciting. Always over eager, or just eager enough. Souji won’t complain about the way teeth catch on his lower lip. He’ll just tug on Heisuke’s hair in return. It’s too bad his ponytail is gone, that could have been fun. It’s soft anyway. Softer than how they handle each other. Souji tilts his head just right, and Heisuke follows. If Heisuke catches any blood or bitter herbs on his tongue he doesn’t seem to mind. He just pushes forward, curling his fingers into Souji’s shoulders. Running out of air is something Souji is has grown pretty used to by now, but this kind of breathless is better. It gives him adrenaline and intensity rather than a sickening sedation.

Briefly Souji considers the possibility of getting Heisuke sick, but the concern doesn’t last. Heisuke’s knee nudges at him, and knocks the question aside. Even if he did share his illness with Heisuke, it wouldn’t matter. Heisuke can’t lose any more than he’s already given up. Souji can’t ruin him any further. There’s relief in that. No matter how gentle or harsh they are with each other it won’t do any permanent damage. Sure, they can negotiate truths and hopes, but they’ve thrown their backs against the same wall. The only direction is to keep fighting. Heisuke’s mouth is shaped like kind words, but he takes every shove and nip and gives it right back. This is what Souji wants.

“Did you come expecting this too?” Souji’s fingers drum on the back of Heisuke’s head. His smirk feels familiar. It’s something he can tell is his. A sign he has some level of control still. “How devious of you, Heisuke.”

The way Heisuke looks at him isn’t quite controlled by either of them.

“No,” He feels Heisuke laugh against his neck half a second before it reaches his ears, “I’m just following your suggestion.”

“It’s not fair to blame this on me.” His swipes his thumb across Heisuke’s lips.

“I’ll take half the blame then.” Heisuke’s fingers tie themselves into Souji’s collar. The fabric digs into the back of his neck, but he’s still breathing.

“Three-quarters.” Why not push while he still has the strength?

“No, half is fai-,” Heisuke starts, half complaining half gasping. Arguing is fun, but so is nipping the side of Heisuke’s jaw. “Fine.”

It is fine, isn’t it? Not everything, but this.

Nothing is okay about their respective illnesses, nothing is ok about rusted swords or shooting clocks, but this moment is ok even if they’re not. He can pin Heisuke to the floor hard enough that the tatami will mark his back through the blankets over and over because his skin makes sure it’s a clean slate. Heisuke grabs Souji’s hand and squeezes too tight. He wouldn’t notice if his fingers broke. He’s thinner than he was. His clothes hang off him, miserably underwhelmed by his attempts to fill them. But Heisuke finds opportunity in opportunities lost. The ill fit makes for easy access.

They’re kissing again. Swallowing everything they have tried to yell at themselves and others. Heisuke tugs at Souji’s lower lip, and Souji pins Heisuke’s tongue with his. Neither of them has control, but they both take it. It’s nice to feel equal. While Heisuke’s lungs aren’t rotting, he’s been fighting something else, and when he looks at Souji he sees himself and not what he could have been. They’re rough, but there’s no punishment. Maybe’s that’s why they don’t need to ask before they peel layers back. That permission has already been given in whatever agreement they made to share _now_.

Souji shrugs his shoulders free while Heisuke finishes untying his obi. Chizuru had mentioned Souji’s skill with his hands once, the way Heisuke takes this knot apart is worthy of appreciation too. Gravity slides the fabric the rest the way down Souji’s body and onto Heisuke’s legs. Where Heisuke ends up kicking his yukata to is entirely irrelevant. The difference is that their state of dress is polar opposite. Souji entirely naked with Heisuke covered up in all of the pieces of that foreign uniform. The only thing he’s taken off so far is his boots.

Heisuke’s fingers slides over Souji’s ribs, digging into the hollows between them until he’s almost massaging his lungs. It gives him something to time his breath to if nothing else. There are awful things sickness does to the body. Things that have sat at the front of his mind because they’ve rendered him invalid. It wouldn’t be hard for Heisuke to see him for all that disease, to look away from Souji and towards jutting bones and a rattling chest instead. But Heisuke never stops seeing him. So Souji wants to see him too.

Buttons add to that challenge. They’re glassy, and his fingers slide off a few times. He’d rip them off, but Hijikata-san would probably whack Heisuke for that. Why does Heisuke even need a vest? He swats Heisuke’s hip when he starts to laugh, but it doesn’t stop Heisuke from slipping his fingers in between Souji’s and teaching him how to unclasp each one.

“Hajime-kun and I practiced with the buttons.” Heisuke’s hands run down Souji’s back, tracing his spine until he grabs at hips instead. Souji could take pride in the way Heisuke pants out each word, but this isn’t about ego.

“Hmm, you’ve done this with Hajime-kun?” It’s too much of an opportunity to ignore. Heisuke sputters and flails. The friction is just as pleasant as the exasperation.

“No, no!” He knees Souji in the ass.

“So I’m special. Lucky me.” His jokes don’t have the same voice to carry them, they have to compete with blood now. If he gags on any of it, he doubts he’ll suffocate just yet.

“Sure thing, Souji.” Agreement comes in words that Heisuke presses against his lips. Kissing while he tosses his vest aside requires some dexterity. Souji leans back so that Heisuke can lean up enough to get the vest out from underneath himself.

The shirt beneath it is a repeat of their joint button-removing efforts. Souji lets his knuckles brush against each centimeter of newly bared skin from Heisuke’s neck down to his lower stomach. The muscles jump as he goes, it fits that Heisuke’s a bit ticklish. Being a rasetsu hasn’t taken that kind of sensitivity away from him. Once the shirt is gone, they’re about half even. The lamp light catches on Heisuke’s skin, but it doesn’t shine through. It doesn’t illuminate bone or blood. He’s solid, he’s here.

Souji follows the seams of light and shadow across Heisuke’s chest with his lips. He kisses the curve of a shadow from Heisuke’s right collar bone down across the left side of his chest. Every breath under the skin greets his lips, and for the instant of each press of his lips they’re both nothing but themselves. Souji slides teeth and lips along the lamp light spilling over Heisuke’s ribs and onto his stomach. It makes Heisuke gasp and slip a hand into Souji’s hair. The tightness of the grip stings a bit, but he digs his fingers into Heisuke’s hip bones just as hard. They continue like this, not rushing, not lingering too long either. They have some time. Not enough. They make it enough. For as nice as kissing is, it’s almost too much when Heisuke runs his fingers up and down the side of Souji’s neck. His throat has been the extension of his lungs’ treachery, but Heisuke is kind even to it because it’s still part of Souji.

Gentle goes as quick as it comes. Roughness isn’t a choice, so much as it has been their life, and the result of chunks of that life falling down on them. They forgive each other for pulling too hard, and shoving without warning, for using too much teeth, and scratching quick fading lines into each other. When he makes his way back to Heisuke’s lip for another kiss, Heisuke wraps his arms around Souji and holds tighter and tighter. Souji thinks Heisuke must be as grateful as he is to be handled this way. In a way that reflects the violence of their experiences, and the harshness of the truths that come with them. The rawness doesn’t hurt nearly as badly as the pity tossed both their ways. Souji summed up as _patient_ and Heisuke with _misfortune._ They don’t do that each other.

Sentimentality is around somewhere, but maybe not in their hands.

Heisuke grins up at him, hooking a leg around one of Souji’s when he rolls them over. It’s dizzying, Souji’s mind has a hard time seeing through the distortions of illness. Heisuke guides him. He knows the pillow is behind head, and there are four walls. He knows Heisuke is up, and he doesn’t mind being the one shoved down for now. The kisses to his neck and jaw are welcome distractions from the breaths his lungs have to beg his throat for. Heisuke’s hands cling to his shoulders while Souji works on the button of his pants. The single button is simpler than the others had been. Yanking the pants down is pretty simple too. Once he gets them passed Heisuke’s knees, Heisuke kicks them the rest of the way off.

The floor supports his back while Heisuke lets him wander. Souji runs his hands from Heisuke’s face, down the sides of his neck, pausing to let to Heiske hold his hand and kiss his palm. One kiss isn’t enough for Heisuke. He kisses each one of Souji’s fingertips before releasing his wrist. Blinking stings, but not enough to stop him. Gravity tugs his hands down Heisuke’s body. When he comes to his chest, he presses hard with the heels of his hands and Heisuke leans up into the touch even harder. The lines of muscle covering Heisuke’s abdomen, and guiding Souji’s fingers down further are something Souji has grown to lack. Most of his angles are made by bone making sharper demands of skin now. Heisuke explores him too, kneading his chest, stroking at his thighs until he can’t decided if he wants to kick him or kiss him. Both would be good.

He gets the latter. Heisuke bends over him right as Souji leans up to meet him, tonight they’ve learned how to match the slide of lips with the words they can’t quite reach. They’re speaking by means that is rawly human rather than rasetsu. Tasting the frustrations that had begun to curdle hopes reminds Souji that Heisuke must understand. He wraps his arms around Heisuke’s neck giving him the leverage to pull Heisuke down onto him. It’s not entirely his strength, Heisuke’s willingness helps.

The weight of having him on top of him does pressure his lungs, but Heisuke’s ribs grab at his through their skin and the friction is worth it. This closeness makes it obvious, the differences in their bodies. Their heights for one. Heisuke’s forehead rests against Souji’s shoulder, and his feet don’t quite reach Souji’s. Tuberculosis has taken muscle and weight from him, while Heisuke is still the picture of physical strength. Heisuke’s muscles form solid plains and ridges that remind Souji’s bones what it felt like to hold that kind of substance. Jealousy would be easy, but it’s not bitterness on his tongue when Heisuke slides up for a kiss.

There’s nothing to be jealous of. They’ll both be ash. Then who would be able to them apart?

Heisuke presses his finger tips into Souji’s cheek just this side of too harshly to be considered romantic, “Thanks Souji.”

“Yeah?” His thumbs circle Heisuke’s hips bones. Talking requires air, and there are other things he’d rather be using his remaining breaths on, but if that’s what Heisuke wants. “What for?”

“Just because,” Heisuke smiles, and it’s enough like his usual goofy grin that the slight inconsistencies in it bite into Souji’s eyes and he’s tempted to hit back except joy is there there too. He’ll just hold Heisuke for a bit instead. Hugs are strange.

“You’re strange.” Saying thank you back isn’t what Heisuke wants.

He kisses him, and he wishes he could get their lips to stayed bruised but those shades don’t last. So he presses again and again, until Heisuke might be shaking. It’s difficult to tell whether it’s Heisuke, or the rattle in his chest. Both, most likely. Heisuke grabs onto his shoulders and grinds them into futon. It limits his movement a bit, but his hands are free scratch down Heisuke’s arms to his hands where Souji laces their fingers up. Too tightly. It’s fine. They push forward with pushing each other.

Adrenaline lights his blood up. It’s amazing there’s still something there to ignite, but Heisuke finds it with his lips and his hands, but also with what he understands. Souji returns the favor of that understanding in firm grips and crushing kisses. There are memories violence in their actions. He can nearly hear the frantic yells and the blood soaked breaths from Aburano Kouji in his ears when he kisses Heisuke’s chest. Heisuke digs between Souji’s ribs for every time he failed Kondo-san, for every time he was left behind. They find the harshness of each other’s pasts and present, and respect that in their touches. It’s rawly them. Their minds aren’t melted by whatever madness ochimizu promises. They can’t help but notice what they’re trying to do for each other. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, match any feelings to what’s driving this, them.

Answers and labels are for people who have time to ponder. Souji doesn’t have that, nor has he ever wanted that.

But he does want this, and so does Heisuke if the gasps and arching back are reliable hints. Forward. That’s where they’re going, but not quite yet. There’s too much tied up in these moments, they’re not held down but there’s too much weight to allow time to accelerate passed them. They’ll probably never do this again. A beginning and an end in one instant. That’s alright with Souji. He’ll be able to sharpen this memory into something to prick his fingers on when he needs to make sure he’s still him.

Sharpening memories is easier than controlling his body though. The narrowing of his field of vision coincides with a familiar burning. He’s been lucky so far tonight, but disease has no regard for him. It sees his body as fuel and when he dies so does it. But for now it takes. It steals his breath from his lungs and out of his throat. Air is enough to rip his throat, his lungs bleed from the effort of it all. When he coughs he sprays blood on himself and on Heisuke. His arm is too thin to catch it all. It’s disgusting. His blood is rotten with illness and ochimizu. It’s impressive that it doesn’t eat a hole right through his skin for all the toxicity it holds.

“Souji…” Heisuke rubs at his chest until the coughs subside. The concern all over his face is difficult because it’s not pity. Just terrifyingly sincere kindness.

He looks up at Heisuke, steadying himself.

_Don’t you dare stop._

If his body costs him even this-

No. Heisuke doesn’t stop, doesn’t back away, he keeps his hands on Souji. Keeps sharing his warmth. Souji reaches to grab a rag to wipe his blood away, it would be even better if he could wipe it from Heisuke’s memory too, the proof of how little the ochimizu will actually buy him. A firm grip on his wrist stops him. He can’t take it back, can’t erase any of it.

Heisuke licks at Souji’s lips, and then down his chin. Souji freezes the instant he realizes what Heisuke’s doing. Shoving Heisuke away is his first instinct, but Heisuke’s eyes aren’t red, his hair isn’t white. He’s still himself, and he’s doing this for Souji. So be it. Maybe even his gross blood will buy Heisuke some comfort, or a few more days. Heisuke's got a strong mind, it would take more than Souji to drive him to madness. Looking directly into the lamp keeps his eyes dry while Heisuke kisses and licks from his chest, down the arm he used to cover his cough. He finishes with a kiss to Souji’s wrist.

There are probably words he should try to say to Heisuke, questions he should ask too. He doesn’t. Nothing he could say in this moment would matter. Actions are something else though. Something that he can just let happen. Heisuke just made it clear that he’s willing to accept all of Souji, no conditions, no lies. It’s been a long time since he’s had that kind of freedom. Between his body’s failure, and the widening chasm between him and Kondo-san he’s been buried. Heisuke helps him out, and Souji tries his best to help Heisuke too.

He flips them back over. It’s easier to breathe without Heisuke’s weight on his chest, and Heisuke’s muscles relax a bit when Souji pins him. It’s an embrace of sorts, the floor at his back and Souji at his front. Souji kisses him, more gently they have been. Heisuke has been as alone as Souji has been, and Heisuke’s had everyone still around him. That’s worse. Worse still considering Heisuke got handed _you’re dangerous_ and _no tomorrow_ in such quick succession.

Souji won’t offer sympathies. It would be insulting, It would invalidate all the grit Heisuke’s shown just in making it this long, so he switches back to more forceful kisses. It’s fun to watch the Heisuke’s skin take up colors he hasn’t seen on himself since he got sick. He’s got to be at least a bit flushed himself. He’ll pretend his skin knows how to mirror Heisuke’s rather than sickness. And why not? They’ve already bounced rays of dark and light back forth. They have given and returned everything to each from identical angles.

It’s a nice reflection, isn’t it?

Himself on Heisuke, Heisuke on him.

Every motion is matched in some way or another. Souji runs his hands down Heisuke’s body with a new sense of purpose while Heisuke’s hands scramble at air before sliding down Souji’s back. Heisuke gasps when Souji’s breath catches. They press themselves closer and closer together, Heisuke’s hips lift while Souji grinds down. He knows his bones must be sharp against Heisuke, but they’re still too blunt to cut. Metaphoric for Souji himself in a way, but poetics have never been his. Like other things.

Heisuke will be his for now.

When he sinks down it feels uncomfortable for a minute, but that moment is quickly forgotten. As soon as he starts to move, Heisuke moves with him. It’s funny how Heisuke doesn’t need any cues, he just knows, just like Souji understands what Heisuke wants. He takes Heisuke’s hands and holds them over his hips. It’s harder to balance this way, but the smile he gets in between gasps is worth it. Makes him feel worth everything even if just for today. His own breathing is loud in his ears, but Heisuke’s is equal in volume and that’s freedom. Heisuke curls his fingers tighter around Souji’s when Souji leans down to kiss him.

Their breath tangles up as much as they do. They’ve mirrored different parts of themselves all over each other. He must have Heisuke’s smiles on his lips, and his laughter stamped down his spine. He has seen himself in Hajime-kun before, has seen what he might still be. But he sees what he is now in Heisuke and it’s not what he expected. It’s a relief to see Heisuke showing him himself, but showing no signs madness or rust.

When they both come undone, it’s within seconds of each other.

He’s not sure if it was him saying Heisuke name, or Heisuke saying his, or if either of them were saying anything at all. For the first him in a while there’s a light in his eyes that doesn’t make nauseous. That’s a gift in its own right. He can say he lived at least one more day instead of night, if only out of defiance. Heisuke mutters something against his collarbone that he can’t make out. Returning coherence reminds him to roll himself off of Heisuke.

“What were you saying?” He’s not quite ready to let go of Heisuke’s hand, so he keeps it.

“I’m just happy is all.” The half second of embarrassment is cute. Happiness isn’t something they’ve had an abundance of. It doesn’t last all that long usually. But when Heisuke says _happy_ Souji knows it stands for something other than just basic joy.

He kisses Heisuke’s cheek, then his lips. Softly this time. Instinct says to, and he won’t question it. Heisuke doesn’t let go of his hand, so he chose right. “Yeah, thank you.”

The sincerity of his gratitude doesn’t seem to catch Heisuke off guard. He has always believed the best in him, hasn’t he? They move in a little closer together. Warmth and sharing is nice. He doesn't consider either of them clingy, but they’ve earned closeness. His arm drapes over Heisuke’s waist, and Heisuke tucks himself into Souji’s chest before starting to drift off.

He’ll have to give him back. Heisuke will leave with the rest of the guys for battle. He might be killed, or use himself up. Souji will chase after them, but he won’t ever quite catch up. They’ll meet imperfect ends, out of synch with their desires but close enough to say it was still their choice. This is their choice.

His throat is a little less tight when he starts to find sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> There you have it! Souji/Heisuke... The pairing that started as a sort of joke and then once I wrote it once I just started thinking more and more about how it would work... And basically now we're here. 
> 
> I didn't even really intend to write this fic specifically. I just had a major urge to write from Souji's POV, and it went Heisuke places on me. But Heisuke is a good place, so it's fine.


End file.
